Cromey Online

The writings of author, therapist, and priest Robert Warren Cromey.

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Location: San Francisco, California, United States

Wednesday, January 17, 2018


Sexual Koans by Ikkyu, 15th Century Zen Master
Copper Canyon Press 1989, Port Townsend, WA

sexual love’s attachment pain is deeper than I can know
wind soothes my thoughts this lust my ceaseless koan impossible happy

all koans just lead you on
but not like delicious pussy I go down on

thirsty you dream of water cold you want fire
Not me I want the firm warm breasts and wetness of a woman

her mouth played with my cock
the way a cloud plays with the sky

night plum blossoms spreading under a ranch
between her thighs narcissus revolves smell it?

a crazy lecher shuttling between whorehouse and bar
this past master paints east west with his cock

don’t hesitate get laid that’s wisdom
sitting around chanting what crap

sick all I can think of is love and fucking the love song
hums in my groin listen my hair’s white wild grasses uncut on my meadow

I’d sniff you like a dog and taste you
then kiss your other mouth endlessly if I could white hair or not

Lin-chi’s followers don’t know Zen I the Blind Donkey do
my tongue and gentle fingers thick hard cock
one autumn’s night’s a thousand centuries

in deep winter I wrote poem get drunk the cup’s
heavier moon
whispering all night even at sixty I’m hard in her again

the crow’s caw is ok but a night with a lovely whore
opened a wisdom deeper than what the bird said

who brought these fish sizzling in the pan I’ll never stop
about women white hair lust sings through my body weeds

a beautiful woman’s hot vagina’s full of love
I’ve given up trying to put out the fire of my body

how is my hand like Mori’s?
It’s her freedom I love when I’m sick she makes me hard
fingers lips rove everywhere bring my followers joy

I remember one quiet afternoon she fished out my cock
bent over played with it in her mouth for at least an hour

Once when she was cooking I kneeled put my head
between her dark legs
up her skirt kissed and licked and sucked her until she came

she’d play with it almost anywhere day and night
touch it with the deepest part of herself

and the night inside you rocking
smelling the odor of your thighs is everything

plum blossoms close to the ground her dak place opens
wet with the dew of her passion wet with the lust of my tongue

whte haired priest in his eighties
Ikkyu still sings aloud each night to himself to the
because she gave herself freely
her hands her mouth her breasts her long moist thighs

I still worry about how I look my dry white hair oh

age wanting to fuck but I’ll sing no matter what.


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